Spend My Time Dancing
by Horribibble
Summary: As much as Lovino loved seeing the upperclassman in his soccer jersey, he'd much rather help him take it off. It's about time they started playing on the same field. AU. SpaMano. Various others.  All's fair in love and soccer.
1. X's and O's

**Author's** **Notes** : I was reeeeally tempted to reference 'Soccer Practice', but that's going a little bit far into 'shameless campy humor' to ever recover this thing. x3 The rest is coming soon, I just felt like splitting it up to get it out faster.

* * *

><p>-<br>Spend My Time Dancing

Antonio

X's and O's  
>-<p>

* * *

><p><em>-<br>Well there were seven years between us—  
>seems that all my friends were right.<em>

* * *

><p>Lovino Vargas was well known in university for being a foul-mouthed lazy ass. A black spot upon the cheery halls of their 'hallowed institution'. He pissed people off, but he ran like hell before anyone could manage to beat him down for it.<p>

At first, people wondered why he didn't join the soccer team. Despite all of his negative B.S., the team captain seemed to like the guy. Then again, Antonio was practically a saint in his free time—going around volunteering extra time to other clubs, tutoring programs, and community service groups—at least, when he wasn't hanging around with his less-savory friends.

Perverts or not, Francis and Gilbert really cared about the guy. So when they came upon the normally-sunny Spaniard with his shoulders slumped and something dangerously close to a pout on his lips, they were naturally concerned.

"Vassup, Toni? Ya look like shit!" Gilbert, ever tactful, practically cackled as he slung an arm over his friend's shoulder.

Francis rolled his eyes in a long-practiced gesture, affecting both self-sacrificing weariness and stylish ennui.

Antonio waited for him to finish before speaking, "It's nothing, really, amigos. I asked Lovino to join up again, today."

"Ah," Francis choked back the urge to snort in disgust, "Zat would explain ze screaming." He couldn't be too scornful. It was beyond the Frenchman _why_, but Antonio really did favor the ill-tempered Italian. He might be attractive if he'd stop scowling, but for pity's sake—who was willing to gird their loins for that long?

"He missed, this time. Got me in the hip. It was probably _him_ you heard."

"Man, I don't get vhad you see in de kit. He's a total arschloch."

There was the pout again, "No, he's not. Lovi's actually really nice! Last time, he took me to the nurse and everything. He kept blushing and looking at his feet. It was super cute!"

"Oh, yes. It iz adorable the way he goes right for ze groin."

Gilbert snickered, "You wish, Franny."

Francis narrowed his eyes at Gilbert, letting the meaningful 'You're a dick, we both know it, and it is only because this is an ingrained behavior that I will not bother beating your beer-batter liver straight out of you' look linger for a moment.

Then, "Perhaps it iz time to give up while you can still play, oui? Didn't 'e tell you he doesn't have ze time?"

Which was ironic, really, because Francis was well-versed in just how often that excuse was code for, 'I would rather think up five more excuses, possibly involving prison, to get you to leave me alone.'

Antonio knew it as well, but he didn't bother calling bullshit.

"C'mon, Toni. Ve can hit a gay club, if you're _zat_ bent, but ve've _got _to get you laid."

The Spaniard had the decency to blush as his friends each grasped an arm, "N-no! That's not it! No comprenden! It's just that Lovi would be really good—"

"On the field. Of course, mon amie. Of course."

–

It was surprising that the remaining two thirds of the 'Bad Touch Trio' had been so ready to accompany their little Latin lover-boy to the nearest gay bar. Toni had never seen the men chase such familiar tail—_not _that he had been chasing Lovi's—but they didn't seem too affected.

...Well, really, in Francis' case, it wasn't all _that_ surprising, but with Gilbert, it was a little off-putting.

The German just shrugged his shoulders, "You remember Lutz, ja? My bruder? He's banging anozzer guy. I haven't _met _the kid, but it's cool. I don't know how he does it, but it's almost like he's pulling the sti-..."

Gilbert paled suddenly when he realized just which part of his straight-laced brother's anatomy he was discussing, and just how accurate that analogy may have been.

It was doubtlessly traumatic, because Gilbert seemed much more hesitant to proceed out of the parking lot, but Antonio cracked a grin and laughed. Returning to their customary gestures, he rested a tanned forearm against his friend's shoulder.

Anything resembling an embrace would probably just freak him out.

"C'mon, Gilberto. I'll buy you a beer."

Gilbert pursed his lip, eying him sidelong as the trio slowly eased away from the car.

…

"No homo?"

Francis stumbled backwards, choking a few times before managing to laugh.

"Fuck you, Franny. It's a perfectly reasonable qvestion!"

–

Quite the opposite, really.

Inside the club, there was a whole lot of homo, but it wasn't exactly the stick-wielding bottom-harrying hell Gilbert had imagined. The place was pleasantly busy, nicely decorated, and the music was definitely danceable. Oh, how Antonio loved to dance.

It took him a second to realize his friends were watching him as if they were waiting for something. Well, Francis was. Gilbert was standing shoulder to shoulder with the Frenchman in a way that reminded Antonio of the little rope lead they'd held onto in kindergarten.

He smiled at them curiously, and the eye roll made a comeback.

"What, are you waiting for ze starting whistle? Go. Play."

If nothing else, you had to admire the Spaniard for his hustle.

–

**A/N : **Lovi's up next, and seems to be quite a bit longer. The lyrics are from 'One Month Off' by Bloc Party. I'm about to have an italics aneurysm. -.-


	2. Hustling

**Author's** **Notes** : Here we have Lovino's joyous introduction. Behold! Violence and heartwarming family trauma. To **YumikoSound**, the 'ze's are part of a stereotypical French accent. For Francis and Gilbert, I wanted to add a bit of the accent without letting it get obnoxious. You're reading for the story, not to stumble through the language labyrinth. o3o A big thank you to the other reviewers, as well, and to the surprising number who alerted so quickly. o.o

Without further ado...

* * *

><p>Spend My Time Dancing<p>

Lovino

Hustling

* * *

><p>-x<p>

...That we can't survive on your bedroom eyes  
>and a Spanish guitar.<p>

o-

* * *

><p>-x<p>

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo did _not _know when to give up. Sure, everyone at university worshiped the guy like some kind of holy man—seriously, the world religions teacher had a pre-prepared 'sensitivity' talk for the few remaining people that actually called him 'San Antonio'—but wasn't that supposed to imply some sort of intuitiveness?

Or, you know, basic common sense?

It utterly _amazed _Lovino that the man was so unwaveringly persistent in the face of near-constant physical punishment. It would almost be attractive, if the dunderhead could stop professing his appreciation for Lovi's good form and muscle tone, or whatever the hell it was he kept blabbering about.

Coming from the mouth of the tanned, toned 'Tonio', the praise was almost condescending. He got the sensation that he'd feel nothing short of _vulgar_ running on the same field as the cheery Spaniard. If he could even manage to _run_ without tripping all over himself, trying to come up with something nice—or at least _PG_ to say.

The best he'd come up with was today's stunningly brilliant, _Give it up, shit for brains. I told you I'm busy. Why don't you go chase a ball, or something? Leave me alone!_

(Followed, as per tradition, with an attempted kick to the Spanish soccer-god's nads.)

He didn't _really_ want Antonio to leave him alone.

He just...wanted him to notice something else. _Other_ than how fast that 'scrawny loud-mouthed Italian' could get the hell out of dodge.

Like what color his eyes were.

Or how pretty they were when they soaked up his every match. Because whether Antonio noticed or not, he never missed a game.

o–

...It wasn't that Lovino didn't _like _soccer. He'd been in love with the sport since his _nonno_ had taken him and his twin to their first match. They'd been all bundled up in the stands, beaming down at the athletes. Lovino had cheered until his little throat went dry and sore even though he was still just a little too young to understand the technical side of the little running battle below.

He hadn't even complained that he and his brother had to share a hot chocolate—not with the way his sweet-tempered sibling kept pressing it into his palms and urging him to soothe his throat. He didn't really mind sharing, either. Not with Feli.

He'd even stayed still and smiled a little when Rome insisted on taking a picture of the two of them, all bundled up together in his massive scarf, red-nosed and rosy cheeked and spitting out some garbled mess of Italo-Americanese in their excitement.

Hell, he'd been so absorbed in the whole experience, he hadn't even minded when _nonno_ and Feli left without him. It happened a lot, throughout their lives, but Lovino had eventually realized that it had more than a little to do with his twin's bizarre ability to make everyone feel at ease.

Backpacks left at home.

Suitcases left in hotel rooms.

Small Italian children left waiting on various curbs and benches. (Not to mention the occasional tree.)

He had grown quickly accustomed to awaiting the speedy and often reckless return of his responsible adult and wailing sibling. More than a few times, he had been approached by concerned citizens and police officers, and every time he was forced to explain that, 'No, Sir and/or Madame, I am not lost and/or abandoned and/or waiting for my crack whore mother to finish. I am waiting for...oh, there, you see? That big Italian man. The one who's crying. Yes, he's here for me. I am going home, now.'

At soccer practice, when they were old enough, Lovino and Feliciano had been mocked incessantly for the first few days for holding hands while they awaited pick-up.

Of course, Lovino hadn't tolerated it for very long.

Finally, after one too many, 'Why are you holding hands? Is he your boooooooooyfriend?'s, he had hissed, rather menacingly for a boy his age, "Why aren't you? Didn't _you _see the van?"

This, unfortunately, had put the mothers on freakishly high alert for the rest of the season, and had nearly resulted in the violent mauling of a florist mid-delivery.

But that wasn't the point, really.

As long as he could play soccer, he was golden.

The _problem _arose once he hit puberty and, embarrassed beyond belief, abruptly quit the soccer team.

-x

But it was okay. He'd found other ways to occupy himself.

Now that he'd hit eighteen, they were even _legal_.

o–

Really, when he told Antonio that he was busy, he wasn't lying.

He _was _busy.

Dancing.

Drinking.

Teasing and touching.

And picturing Antonio, Antonio, Antonio all over the place.

Watching him run and sweat and breathe and smile like a complete doofus Casanova. He didn't even bother to take his cleats off while he ran laps around Lovino's stupid shaky heart.

Lovino _couldn't_ join the team, because his head wasn't in it.

He'd rather spend all of his time waiting around in the locker room, watching for Antonio.

–x

Of course, he couldn't do that, so it was another night out for him, playing a different kind of game.

Swaying and pulsing with the overhead lights and the rumbling beats underfoot, racking up classical denominations: in hearts, numbers, and free drinks.

He had to concentrate more and more, these days. The instant gratification of being touched and admired was starting to lose its kick. He got 'admiration' all the time these days, just not the way he wanted.

It was starting to feel less like he was indulging and more like he was trying desperately to distract himself.

_Right here, right now, I am important. _

It used to be louder than thunder, better than scoring a hundred goals. Now, it just fizzled into a certain sun-warm accent, taking stock of his good musculature.

He was pouting before he could stop himself.

Trust San Antonio to be the only guy ever to offer an _actual_ friendly rubdown.

"_Gesù Cristo._"

"Something wrong, Roma?"

He plastered on a lewd little smile he'd finally perfected around age fifteen and turned his head to look at his latest dance partner. _If you could really call this dancing_.

"Mmmmm, nothing. I'm gonna get a drink."

Anyone who called him 'Roma' knew his tastes well enough to understand that that meant it was time to 'let the fuck go'.

Still, the man made a little humming whine that Lovino felt on the back of his neck, rubbing a thumb against a teasing hint of hip bone.

He wasn't in the mood to render any more men infertile today (whether or not it actually made a difference), so he gave a little, curling his fingers around his friend's and peeling them away gently. He moved away, putting space between backside and pelvis before turning slowly.

He wasn't really one for vanity, but the poor guy definitely couldn't pull off a pout as easily as he could. Lovino's smile grew just a little bit genuine, and he leaned in to whisper, "Miss me" before sauntering off toward the bar.

o–

It took a moment or two for the recreational tease to realize that he was not, in fact, hallucinating the man by the bar.

He'd burned off the last round of drinks, by now, and he was borderline _paranoid_ about taking (or being slipped) anything. No. That broad back bunched up in unconscious anxiety was the same broad back streaming in full color in 97% of Lovino's dreams. (The rest, of course, were dry.)

Come to think of it, he'd be hard pressed to come up with this—only San Antonio would be dopey enough to wear his _soccer jersey _to a gay bar. There was no way he'd planned it.

Which meant that he was here.

In Lovino's favorite bar—Lovino's favorite _gay _bar. Home of faeries and foxes and bears, oh my. Where 'friendly rubdowns' were never _actually _friendly.

He felt as if he might _weep_.

But no. Suddenly, he was back at the peak—the one he'd been trying so hard to get back to. That first heated realization that he wasn't just some skinny little loudmouth, here—he was _wanted_, and he was in _charge._

This wasn't a school hallway, this wasn't a locker room, this wasn't a field.

This was home—_his _home.

And, make or break, it was about time _Romano_ introduced himself.

After all, Antonio had opened the door. It'd be _rude _not to enter.

–x

**A/N: **Again, breaking it up for the sake of flow. It's time for me to sleep, and I don't want the quality to take a dive. I'll understand if you take issue with Lovi's...ah...'unusual' attitude, but under the circumstances, I really don't think it's unusual. Please do tell me what you thought. :)

Ciao~.


	3. An Equal Playing Field

**Author's** **Notes** : Originally, this was about nine pages long, but I decided to split it up again for the sake of spacing. I'm not 100% certain about the lemon I have written, so I'd still like the opportunity to look it over. To all of my lovely reviewers—_**thank you!**_ I hope this chapter meets your expectations. To _**Cifer10**_, I hope you're doing better. :)

* * *

><p>Spend My Time Dancing<p>

Antonio & Lovino

An Equal Playing Field

* * *

><p><em>I ebb and you flow. It's a...<br>A bit screwed but you can't catch my love._

* * *

><p>Tino smiled brightly from his place behind the bar top. He always <em>could<em> spot the new ones.

Which was good, because Berwald and Matthias, however well-intentioned, tended to frighten them, and Matthew tended to be frightened _of_ them.

That, and the Finn was a close enough friend to a certain fiery Italian to recognize the easygoing Spaniard when he spilled everything but his _blood type _out on the counter without downing a single drink. (That last bit was lacking, he was told, because Antonio could never seem to remember it.)

Tino giggled again as Antonio 'Ooh'ed and 'Ahh'ed at the amount of time he and his boyfriend had been together.

Lovino hadn't been kidding. The man really _was _incredibly genuine. It was easy enough to read him—he was nervous, but he wasn't about to pawn it off on anyone else. _Huono vauva._

"What about _you_, Antonio? Are you here with anyone?"

"Ah. Si, with my friends, Gilbert and Francis. They brought me here to cheer me up...but Gilbert's probably hiding in the bathroom, or something."

It was a testament to Tino's acting skills that he managed to hide his wince. Instead, he pressed on, "Were you rejected? That's hard to believe."

That deflated the man a bit, "He's got a mean kick to him, too." He rubbed his hip absently, and Tino made the jump, "Every time I open my mouth, it just pisses him off."

"Oh?"

He didn't spot the conspiratorial look the blond shot over his shoulder, so he slumped a bit more, sinking deeper into his little funk. Weren't bartenders supposed to make you feel better?

"Something to drink, Roma?"

Slender arms draped over the Spaniard's shoulders, and a delicate breath brushed past his ear, "Multiple Orgasms."

"Two?"

"We'll see."

For a second, Lovino was sure he'd broken the man. He stayed close, brushing against the bigger body as he slid into the neighboring bar stool, half an eye on the dirty little smirk Tino shot him as he readied their drinks.

A few more pronounced owlish blinks, and Antonio regained the capacity for human speech, 'winning' the Italian's attention, "L...Lovi?"

"Mmmmhm." Equal parts sleepy and suggestive.

The intended message? 'It's about time I got to bed. Can I share yours?'

But this was San Antonio, patron saint of the oblivious. There was no way he'd just suddenly become fluent in body language. ...Maybe Lovino had scrambled it a little too much with all those shots to the balls.

"Lovi? Are you okay? You look tired."

"Do I? I've been dancing a lot." _With other men. Lots of other men. With biceps bigger than yours._

Antonio nodded, "Taking a water break, then. Or a...uh..." His eyebrows furrowed, raising that adorable little ridge just between his eyes as he wrestled with the memory of Little Lovino wrapping his mouth around...

"Quickie?"

The Spaniard coughed, but his companion didn't move, keeping his chin propped on one fist, leaning against the bar with his lithe body on display. If Antonio had been able to process it, he might have noticed the catty flutter of the other man's eyelashes.

Tino was a bit more observant, smothering a snort in his arm before setting their glasses before them. "Two Multiple Orgasms. Have fun."

"_Gracias_." Antonio raised his glass to toast the departing blonde before taking a careful sip...and choking on it. "Hey, what—? Lovi, there's alcohol in these!"

For his part, Lovino was far less hesitant to wrap himself up in his drink. He watched the soccer captain over the rim of his glass, savoring a mouthful before a swallow, a sigh, "Two cl each orange liquer and Bailey's. Not your thing?"

"Not _your _thing! It doesn't matter what _kind _of alcohol, you're under 21!" Antonio looked genuinely distressed, as if he were trying to talk his underclassman down from a ledge.

Of all the times to get wise.

"You're on the soccer team, genius. You really have a problem with underage drinking?"

"For you, yes! You're in public, in a place like this!" He waved a hand out toward the sensory mass on the dance floor, "Dressed like...with a _face _like...and you're so _small_, Lovi. It's as if..."

"I'm asking for it?"

Antonio's face was flushed, now, and Lovino didn't bother getting angry about the 'small' comment. The man looked as if he might break down and cry if he couldn't get the right words out.

"You don't need to ask for anything, Lovi. Not _here_, by yourself. You always look so lonely..."

"Whose fault is that, huh? You follow me around, talking about my calves and how _perfect _I am—for soccer. When I picture us in the locker room, _Toni_, the rest of the team isn't there, we don't have any clothes on, and I'm _anything but lonely._"

There was a moment of silence while Lovino took a few more sips of liquid courage and Antonio's brain struggled to catch up.

"So," He continued, gaze fixed somewhere amongst the bottles lining the wall, "Still wanna play with me, Toni?"

"Oh, _hell_ yes."

* * *

><p>Lovino had been expecting pretty much anything <em>but <em>that...which is why he nearly turned his ankle when Antonio hauled him off the bar stool and straight for the exit.

Under any other circumstances, Lovino would have eviscerated anyone who tried to take his keys with nothing more than his heavy boots, but this time he was quite partial to being manhandled.

* * *

><p>Which was why it was an awful lot like mood whiplash when Antonio set him down gently in the entryway, toed off his shoes and socks, and double-timed to the kitchen.<p>

Lovino blinked after the departing Spaniard, not quite getting what was going on. After a moment or two, he followed on quiet feet, finding himself in a well-appointed kitchen with a frazzled host.

He moved closer, standing just before the man who was barely holding himself up by the edge of his cold stone countertop and _waiting_.

"I, uh...you want a popsicle?"

Lovino's brows arched in complete disbelief, but the expression quickly dissolved, giving way to raucous, teary-eyed laughter. He pressed his face into the material at Antonio's shoulder, wrapping his arms around the man in a hug as he rode out the shakes.

For his part, Antonio smiled awkwardly, patting the younger man on the back once or twice before running one calloused palm down the soft slope of his back, the other resting on one bared hip. "...You, uh...you go out like this a lot?"

Lovino pulled away, tears still blotting and streaking over his cheeks as he tried to rein in his giggling. He reached up with one hand to smear away a stray tear before matching bright green with bright green. "Maybe. You go out like _this _a lot?"

He plucked at the fabric with nimble fingers, and the hurt look on Antonio's face nearly set him off again, "What's wrong with my jersey?"

"Besides the whole 'fantasy fodder' thing? Ever heard of Jonny McGovern?"

"Jonny-who?"

"'The Gay Pimp'." He snickered a little before calming down again, "Screw it. It doesn't matter. You're taking it off, anyway."

"I am?"

"I've had wet dreams about your abs. Fuck _yes, _you're taking it off."

Sneaky fingers weaseled their way underneath the fabric of Antonio's jersey, managing to hike the fabric up an inch or two before a larger pair of hands settled on top of them, "You're pretty forward tonight."

"...Think of it from my point of view. I've liked you since the first time I saw you play. Every day, you smile at me and compliment me, but you're looking at my 'muscle tone'. Which is nice, I guess, but how long would you really wanna share the showers with a fairy like me?"

Warm thumbs rubbed over the backs of his hands, and Antonio smiled down...like he was blessing him. "That's a tough question, Lovi. It depends: what would you do in the showers?"

One hand slid slowly down, releasing the smaller man's fingers in favor of the hollow at his lower back, dipping teasingly down into the small space left by his fashionably tight pants.

"_Auh-mmm,_" He sighed at the delicate touch, allowing a small, satisfied smile as he tilted his face up, inviting a pair of hot, chapped lips onto his own.

That large hand crept down further, smoothing over his backside and tickling at the tender spot where bottom met thigh. Lovino laughed into the liplock, opening his mouth for Antonio to slip his tongue inside, mapping the taste of alcohol, cream, and strawberries.

It was comforting, now that he didn't need to worry about anyone mistreating his fascinating (if foul-mouthed) schoolmate. The contact was lazy, and would almost be relaxing if not for the slow, steady burn it was building in Antonio's belly.

He opened his eyes as he pulled away, pressing a light kiss to Lovino's lower lip, now red and glossy with saliva. He stayed close enough to feel the breeze from between those lips hazing over his cheek, examining just how vulnerable the little spitfire looked with his eyes closed.

"And I thought your smiling face was hot."

Those sharp green eyes fluttered open at the hot whisper, "_Madonna..._"

"So quiet. I should kiss you more often."

"Just kissing?" Plump lips twisted into a smirk and slim fingers released their hold on Antonio's jersey, sliding towards the lower hemline, "Where's your imagination?"

It was a rhetorical question. Which was good, because Antonio came up empty when the other man yanked him forward by the front of his belt line.

Lovino made quick work of the fly of Antonio's jeans, dropping to his knees as he tugged them and the underpants down around the man's perfectly-toned thighs.

"_Lovino_..." Antonio sighed, one hand reaching down to tangle in soft reddish-brown hair as the other settled on his shoulder, "You don't have to..."

"But _captain_...I _want _to." Big green doe eyes glanced up from underneath feathery lashes, and warm breath ghosted over a near fully-hard erection. Before that hot mouth even _touched _him, Antonio was groaning.

This was going to be _fun._

* * *

><p><strong>Translations: <strong>

_Huono vauva _means 'Poor baby' in Finnish.

_Madonna_ – Self-explanatory. It's a lot like saying, 'Oh my G-d.'

**A/N:**

The song featured in this chapter is "May Day" by Unkle, featuring The Duke Spirit.

Before anyone starts complaining—yes, they are becoming intimate quite rapidly. I feel that any more emphasis on the fact that both of them are already interested would be overkill.

Also—not everything begins with vows of undying love.

o.o


	4. Goal

**Author's** **Notes** : And here's the part you've actually been waiting for. I do hope you approve. I've read and reread the thing for editing purposes, and I hope it meets your expectations. :) To **Blurry**, the mandatory cuddles. **Addiction** : Thank you so much for the awesome reviews. I like your work, so it's a great compliment to hear such high praise for mine. (And it reminds me of how badly I need to get my ass familiarized with the 'Review' button. x3 Also, I would offer the soul of my headcannon in return, but I'm not precisely sure it has one.

And to **Kat**: Here's the shiny porn I promised you. Feel better.

There's a bit of a note at the bottom, as well. I desire co-conspirators to help me continue my degenerate ways.

* * *

><p>Spend My Time Dancing<p>

Antonio & Lovino

Goal

* * *

><p><em>Cover me. Cover me.<br>My vicious tongue cradles just one. _

* * *

><p>-x-<p>

More than once, Lovino had been mistakenly called a pain slut.

No way in hell. As far as he was concerned, sex was about exchanging shared pleasure, not torturing one another.

No.

What Lovino enjoyed was the girth of his partner nudging past his gag reflex and settling heavy in his throat. He _adored_ the warm, deep shivers he could feel traveling up a strong spine. It was amazing, to him—the sensation of being _truly _appreciated in the most basic human sense.

And now, with Antonio shuddering between his lips, arching from the counter in a chorus of heavy breathing and bilingual pleas and praises, Lovino was living a dream.

His hands were shaking and he was biting at his lips, making a conscious effort to avoid yanking or shoving in any way that would upset the smaller man. It was sweet, if a little frustrating. He wanted the man insensible and vulgar, not fussing over him.

He hummed, tracing the large vein on the underside as the corners of his lips adopted an upward curve. He constricted his throat a little more as he picked up the pace, bobbing up and down carefully to avoid actual asphyxiation.

"Lo..._vino_," Antonio's voice was strained, forced through gritted teeth, "_Dios_, Lovi, nn...no more. There's more to do, ¿_verdad_?"

Both hands braced against his shoulders, pushing gently until Lovino relaxed his throat, sliding off slowly and pressing a kiss to the head before looking back up at the man's face.

"_**Jesús**__, cariño_." The hand in his hair shifted to cup the side of his face as Antonio worked to control his breathing. A moment or two later, both hands were darting over his arms and shoulders, urging him back up to be pressed into the man's broad chest.

Blunt nails ghosted over the skin of the smaller man's back, pushing his shirt up and off before smoothing down to toy with his stiffened nipples—delightfully eager to explore the pretty little body framed in his arms.

"You could have come," Lovino rasped, working out the soreness in his freshly abused throat, "I wouldn't mind."

"_Ha_...and they call _me _a saint." Antonio laughed, sending a pleasant rumble through his chest and into the slender Italian pressed against him.

The younger man snorted, inhaling against the thin material of his jersey before reaching for the hem once again, "Don't know about sainthood, but if you want a religious experience..."

Antonio lifted his arms as Lovino tugged the material upward, allowing the article to be stripped away before returning greedy fingers to dart over whatever they could reach. Almost to equal ground, but not quite.

He leaned forward, guiding the smaller man's hands back to the material bunched above his knees before feathering kisses over the sensitive neck.

From there, Lovino inched worn jeans down toned thighs until Antonio kicked them off, chuckling as tongue and teeth tickled and teased at the side of his throat. Eager hands reached for the fastenings of his pants, but he grabbed them and moved them away.

"Easy," He drawled, fishing a small tube of lubricant and two foil packets from the back pocket, "I'm clean, but, if you want 'em..."

Antonio smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles before getting to work on his emptied pants, "I believe you."

A series of quick, wet kisses and teasing gropes, and Antonio was grabbing the Italian's wrist and leading him into the bedroom before once again wrapping him up in his arms.

"I have no idea what I'm doing. Tell me how to make you feel good."

"_Merda_, Toni. Sit back against that headboard, and I'll _show _you."

Another quick press of the lips, and Antonio complied, watching with predatory eyes as the other man crawled into his lap with surprising confidence.

Lovino made a soft noise, offering up the lubricant with a working in his throat.

He'd done this before, certainly, but this was Antonio.

Antonio, who didn't mind going bareback with a needy little attention whore who'd done little but yell at him since the first time he'd introduced himself. Beautiful Antonio, who didn't mind playing follow the leader, if it meant making him _feel _good.

Another noise—this one high-pitched and strangled—and something cold and nearly liquid slipped against and in_side _him. "Wh-what the _hell?_"

He tried to jerk, but a firm hand against his backside prevented him from sitting down. ...When had he leaned forward? His breath hitched, and he stared wide-eyed at the roguish grin Antonio was giving him, "All right, I have _some _idea."

"_Jack_ass. What was _that _for?"

"I told you, I hate that lonely face you make." That slick finger rubbed against him again, slipping in to the first knuckle and moving a little before sliding back out. In once more, as far as it could go, and Lovino let out a high-pitched sighing sound, biting his lip and focusing on the feeling.

"_Much_ better."

-x-

* * *

><p>-x-<p>

Antonio was a quick study.

Mostly out of necessity; Lovino was quick to lose anything remotely resembling patience as the subject of every last one of his fantasies stretched and stroked him from the inside and out.

Lovino was on the verge of tears as the bright-eyed Spaniard stimulated his most sensitive spots, peppering his face with kisses and breathing words of affection and encouragement.

It was all right, for a while, until the stubborn Italian realized that not only was he being treated like a trembling virgin, he was _acting _like one, too.

He angled his head for a deep, heady kiss before grinding his erection against his partner's. "So are you going to fuck me, or what?"

-x-

* * *

><p>-x-<p>

The first time was over far too quickly—both of them had been too excited going into it for either of them to last very long. The sensation of everything coming together exactly the way he'd always wanted had left Lovino a bit too shaky to pace himself as he urged Antonio _faster _and _deeper_.

Antonio had thought he was going crazy at the varied stimulation of Lovino crying for him and tightening around him, grasping for any anchor to hold himself down and leaving more than a few scars on his back, chest, and arms. Being able to hold that vulnerable, writhing form against him had totaled any stamina he might have laid claim to.

Afterward, they had done a quick (if awkward) clean up job, and Antonio had tucked the smaller man against his chest, taking the opportunity to run his hands over whatever stretches of flesh he could reach. He sung broken segments of old Spanish songs, and reminded his drowsy lover of just how sweet and good he was.

By the time Lovino was, once again, fully conscious, the innocent touches began to gain heat and focus. He allowed himself to be pulled backwards into the stronger man, nearly melting around him as Antonio slipped back inside.

A quick maneuver found him gripping the top of the headboard with white knuckles as Antonio rocked his hips, chuckling deep and dark into his ear in a tone that practically dripped sin.

"Feels so good, _querido. _Is it not enough?"

Lovino whined, struggling to arch his back far enough to gain some sort of friction from the pillow wedged hastily under his hips. The hand pinning his grip to the furniture abruptly disappeared, and suddenly he was flying upright, the hot mass inside him shifting in wonderful ways.

Strong hands guided his arms up and over his head, wrapping them tightly around the older man's neck and leaving him feeling more than a little vulnerable.

"Mm..." He panted as the motions resumed, pushing back to meet the thrusts more eagerly, "_Never _enough."

One hand reached around to grasp his chin and pull him into another steamy lip lock as the other found its way back to his needy shaft.

It hadn't taken him long at all to figure out just how to make the Italian _sing _with pleasure.

"¿_En serio_?" Antonio challenged, biting at the tender flesh behind the younger man's ear, "I'll have to try harder."

"Hu-_annh_!"

The force behind his thrusts increased, and Lovino felt his stomach beginning to tighten, tremors racking his body.

"Ah! _Toni, _please!" Lovino was nearly sobbing, pressing back into the perceived safety Antonio presented as he was forced to maintain eye contact. The submissive gesture earned him another, gentler press of the lips, the hand keeping him rigid slipping down to circle his waist instead.

"_Te daré lo que quieras, mi corazón._ Just _stay _with me."

From there, everything was a rush to black.

Beautiful, beautiful black.

-x-

* * *

><p>-x-<p>

The following morning, Antonio woke in a haze of muzzy satisfaction.

The previous night drifted gradually to the surface, and he hummed softly in contentment, choosing to replay the sights and sounds behind his eyelids for just a little while longer.

It was his only option, because the warm body that had starred in the bold memories was no longer bundled up against him.

The corners of his lips pulled down slightly as he cracked one eye open to study the rumpled sheets where Lovino had vacated the bed. He nearly groaned at the feeling of failure before he recognized the sounds of his kitchen cabinets opening and closing.

Never had he been so excited by the clattering of plates.

He listened in for a few moments longer, both eyes now dancing with amusement at the sounds of muffled cursing and the faint echo of whatever songs he had sung to the boy last night.

Antonio wondered if the boy was dancing in his kitchen as bare footsteps swept the floor. Dancing..._naked_...in his kitchen. ...Mmm.

He considered getting up to join the younger man, but he was quick to lay back against the pillows and feign sleep as his adorable Italian approached the bedroom.

"Hey..." Lovino's voice was surprisingly gentle, "Hey, dumbass."

There went that theory.

Antonio couldn't quite hide his smile, but his eyes remained closed.

The mattress dipped slightly as the little intruder climbed slowly back onto the bed, resting a safe distance away. If the man got grabby (which Lovino couldn't quite deny he hoped for), there would be a far less pleasant mess for them to clean up.

"I know you're awake, genius. Your breathing gave you away before that goofy grin."

"Clever."

"C'mon. I, uh...I made breakfast."

The tone was just a little needy, just a little hopeful, and too cute for Antonio to resist.

...Until he opened his eyes and sat back up to get a proper look at the boy.

He wasn't naked.

He was wearing nothing but Antonio's jersey.

"See?" Lovino offered the plate up for inspection, looking a little hurt when the taller man shook his head and closed his eyes. "...Antonio?"

The now stormy-eyed Spaniard leaned in close, supporting himself with one hand planted just beside a naked thigh while his palm grasped the other almost tight enough to bruise.

_This_, Lovino could do. He brought out his best tempting smile, his eyes half-lidded as he slid the plate onto the nightstand. Nimble fingers toyed with the hem of the sports uniform, brushing lightly against Antonio's splayed digits. "And I just got dressed, too."

A deep, rich chuckle, and suddenly Toni's palm was _much _higher and Lovino was _much _less put-together, "Aa, _Querido_, who said anything about taking it off?"

-x-

* * *

><p><strong>-x-<br>**

**A/N: **I'm most likely marking this as complete. I want to continue it, certainly, to incorporate much more joy and wonderfulness (I love this little headcannon), but it will probably be in a separate story. Do let me know what you think.

If anyone would like to collaborate a bit, I'd be all over that shit. I need to get social.

I love all of you like whoa, so stay tuned. ;3

(Last thing, I promise! Do any of you crazy betches have Tumblr? I rediscovered my love for it. Find me at Little-Plastic-Monster . Tumblr . Com . Follow me, for there is rich reward. ;3)

-x-

**Edit: **Thanks to DeceptiveInnocenceXIII for catching one of the stranger errors I've made in word choice. x3 It's all prettied up, now.

-x-

* * *

><p><strong>-x-<br>**

**Translations:**

_cariño _and _querido_ are affectionate terms like 'sweetheart' and 'lover'. _Querido_ is often used to refer to one's lover in conversation.

_Verdad? _Means 'Right?'

_Merda _is equivalent to '_Shit'._

_En serio?_ Means roughly, 'Really?' Effectively, he's asking if Lovino is being honest.

_Te daré lo que quieras _means 'I'll give you anything you want.'

_Mi corazón _means 'My heart.'

-x-

* * *

><p>-x-<strong><br>**

**Song:** "Cradle" - The Joy Formidable


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